Pulling their strings
by AlexandertheMeerkat
Summary: A young boy plays with his puppets...


The little boy hopped through the maze of tents, his curly blond hair bouncing and shimmering in the sun. He was going to visit the newest member of the carnival – a puppeteer who'd arrived the night before and had already amazed the crowd with his spectacular shows.

His tent was ragged and weather-beaten, with several patches sewn over holes. The boy barely had time to announce his presence before the puppeteer opened the flap and welcomed him inside.

The boy gazed around the tent with bright, wide eyes. Puppets hung from the ceiling and were scattered on the floor, some were even pinned to the sides with their limbs spread at odd angles. Each one had a different face, different clothes, different hair, and the boy felt as if he could hear the thoughts of every one.

The boy returned to the tent many times, sitting on the dirt and choosing puppets at random, pulling their strings to animate their lives until he grew tired or his father came to get him. He loved the old puppeteer also; it was his favourite thing to watch the man's spidery hands drift over the little blocks of uncut wood -a chip off here, a chunk off there - as if they were clay between his finger tips. In return the puppeteer loved the young boy, as most were afraid of him and his bony face behind the surgical mask and lank grey hair.

The boy soon found his favourite puppets - they wore suits and ties, but were not business people. He'd found the first because of the stern expression on its face, an oddity as the puppeteer usually made puppets with at least a small smile. The boy's first favourite puppet looked as if it had nothing to smile about.

He'd found his second favourite puppet in a dark corner of the tent in a small heap with nastier-looking others. It was noticeable for its tall build, but kindly face. The boy asked the puppeteer why such a puppet was in such a dark place, and the puppeteer said, with a furrowed brow, that he didn't know.

The third puppet was a female that hung from its strings from the top. Its dark eyes seemed to focus on whatever moved in the tent as it stood watch over everything. The boy liked this puppet most of all.

There soon came one faithful day, as the boy sat and played with the three rag-tag toys the puppeteer clipped and hammered away at his newest creation, but then suddenly his chisel slipped, gouging the wood and slicing his finger.

"To Hell with this rotten tool!" The man yelled, and flung the discarded figure behind him, right next to the boy, then stomped out to the medical tent.

The boy looked closely at the figure, the chisel had took off half its face, leaving an uneven, splintered hole in the doll's head. The made the stern-faced puppet dance over,

"Looks like we got ourselves a victim, boss." He made it grunt, remembering what little he'd seen of crime dramas on TV.

"Well bag him and look for clues." The female said, strutting around in a circle.

Several minutes later, the grumbling puppeteer came back and the boy was making a female with a fur coat bob in front of his favourites, who he'd tied up with some spare string.

The puppeteer laughed, then fished from his worktop another female; broad and tall with shimmering red hair. A quick few flicks of the strings and the puppet came running towards the boy, so fluid it might have been real. The forth doll was a hero, and the boy had always liked the colour red.

Unfortunately, the puppeteer left the carnival, only three months after he'd arrived. One morning as the carnies started to set up their shows, all they found on his site was a thank you note, some cash for their trouble and the boy's four puppets.

As the boy grew he still continued to play with the puppets using other broken and discarded dolls he'd kept, they were amazing, they could solve any mystery, catch any bad guy. As the boy went to bed he tucked them in with him, and as he performed his psychic act they watched from offstage. They were his escape from his life and his father; his favourite little toys.

The boy became a young man all too soon, and left the puppets perched on his shelf. Finally, when he found his love and left with nothing for a new life with her, the puppets stayed behind at the carnival.

More years past and the young man became a true man, joining the police, ready to live out his not-forgotten stories for himself. He had a surprise in store for him, as when he joined he found his puppets waiting for him.

His faithful, amazing little puppets.

Patrick Jane still loves his puppets.


End file.
